Lady Be Good (Wynette, Texas #2)(106)

Kenny had to give Ted credit for only rolling his eyes once. “Yes, ma’am.”

She turned her attention to her husband. “Dallie, how’s your shoulder? You’re not pushing yourself too hard, are you?”

“My shoulder’s doin’ just fine. I seem to be two holes up on your darlin’ Kenny.”

“Oh, dear. And I’m certain you’re both being quite beastly about it. They are, aren’t they, Teddy?”

“Oh, no, ma’am. They’re acting like perfect gentlemen. That’s the kind of game golf is.”

Dallie grinned at his son, and even Kenny had to smile at that one.

Francesca introduced Emma—who seemed to be ignoring Kenny—to Dallie. He chatted with her for a few moments, then, apparently satisfied with their conversation, turned back to the tee. “Ladies, you’re in for a treat today. You’re about to see how age and experience can overcome youth and laziness. I believe I’m up.”

As Dallie stepped onto the tee, Kenny wanted to wrap his driver right around the sonovabitch’s neck. It was one thing for other people to tease him in front of Emma, but he didn’t want Dallie doing it.

For the next seven holes, Kenny played as hard as he’d ever played, but his long game wasn’t there, and he hit the ball all over the course. Luckily, his putter kept him alive, and, going into seventeen, the match was finally even. His nerves, however, were as jagged as his long game. And the women weren’t making it any easier.

After a dozen years of marriage, Francesca still hadn’t gotten the hang of even the most rudimentary golf etiquette. Kenny didn’t mind the talking so much, although that aggravated him. What really bothered him was that Francesca kept deciding to move her golf cart just as he was getting ready to hit. In all fairness, she moved it when Dallie was getting ready to hit, too, but it didn’t seem to bother Dallie. It sure did bother Kenny, though. And the one time he’d politely asked her if she had her cart parked right where she wanted it before he teed up, she’d looked hurt, Emma had given him a glare that could have frozen a swamp, and Dallie’d snapped at him as they walked down the fairway. “You haven’t learned a damned thing this past month, have you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m beginning to believe it.” He turned away to walk with Skeet, and Kenny rounded on Ted.

“What the hell’s he talking about?”

Ted gave him a pitying look, as if he were thirty-three and Kenny twenty-two. “Just what he’s been saying for years, is all. That some things are more important than golf.”

What kind of answer was that? Kenny was so frustrated he wanted to scream, but he couldn’t do that, so he gritted his teeth, grabbed his seven iron, and proceeded to hit his ball five yards over the green.

Emma, in the meantime, continued to ignore him. She smiled at Ted, laughed at one of Dallie’s jokes, regarded Skeet warily, and chatted away with Francesca. The few times she looked at Kenny, she had this closed-up expression on her face, as if she’d sealed herself away from him. It made Kenny feel guilty, which made him even madder.

He sweated through another glove, and his shirt was soaked as he pulled his second shot on number eighteen and ended up in heavy rough. He couldn’t let Dallie beat him. If that happened, it would be as if everything Dallie believed about him was right, as if, somehow, the suspension could be justified. In all his life, Kenny’d only done one thing really well, and now even that had deserted him.

Dallie’s second shot was a perfect lay-up in the middle of the fairway. Kenny wiped the sweat from his eyes with his sleeve and tried to ignore the cattle stampede that had started in his stomach. He had to dig this one out of the rough to get it close to the pin. One great shot. That’s what he needed to wipe the smug expression off Dallie’s face. One great shot.

Ted handed him his wedge. Kenny took his stance and drew back the club, but as he was about to connect, Emma sneezed. It distracted him just enough that he got too far under the ball, which caught the front of the green and came to a stop a good thirty feet below the pin.

He slammed the club head into the ground, an act of temper he hadn’t displayed on the golf course since he was seventeen. Then, Dallie had taken away the abused club, snapped it in half, and shoved it into Kenny’s bag. Guess you won’t be needing that club anymore.

“You got it a little fat,” Ted pointed out unnecessarily.

Dallie didn’t say a thing.

Francesca asked Emma if she’d steal Patrick’s recipe for lemon pound cake. Why wouldn’t they go away! Why wouldn’t those women take that damn, noisy, rattling golf cart and, even more important, the straw hat with its bobbing cherries, and get out of here!

Kenny threw the wedge back at Ted and marched toward the green. This was Emma’s fault! If she hadn’t shown up, he’d have been able to pull himself back together. But here she was sucking everything right out of him. Just like his mother used to do.

And then the miracle happened. Dallie’s approach shot, which was dead on line, caught a gust of wind that blew it long. The ball ended up nearly as far above the pin as Kenny was below it.

“Well, now, weren’t those two sorry excuses for golf shots,” Dallie said, as if it didn’t matter all that much.

It mattered to Kenny. Each of them had long putts, but Dallie’s was tougher, and Kenny had one of the steadiest putting strokes on tour. For the first time since the round had begun, Kenny began to feel some confidence. He was going to make this putt.